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UttART 
•WlVBBlTY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


From  a  photograph  by  Aim.'  Dupont,  New  York. 


CHEIRO. 


If  We  Only  Knew 


AN  J) 


OTHER    FOKMS 


BY 


CHEIRO    ? 

Hawion,    Loui's 


AUTOGK  VPHED    EDITION 
ONE    GUINEA 


F.  TENNYSON    NEE  I.Y 

PI  Bl  i    HER 

London  Ni w  Vl" ' 

I  n   Si  114  I'  11  in  AVB 


ASS  7 XI 


Copyright,  1895,  by 
F.  TENNYSON  NEELY 


(preface. 


VEN  wayside  flowers  have  been  known  to  gladden. 
These  humble  poems  are  similar  in  their  history  : 
they  have  not  been  trimmed  down  to  suit  class  or 
creed  ;  they  have  grown  in  and  out  amongst  the  brambles 
of  life,  and  they  are  now  but  tied  up  in  this  form  at  the 
request  of  numerous  wanderers  by  the  highway  to  whose 
hearts  for  some  reason  they  have  appealed. 


The  Author. 


December,  1895. 


3f  <Wt  ©n%  (Knew. 

F  we  only  knew,  if  we  only  knew 

But  a  little  part  of  the  things  we  see, 
Methinks  the  false  would  be  oft  more  true 
Than  what  is  truth — or  what  seems  to  be  : 
Jf  we  only  knew — if  we  only  knew  I 

If  we  only  knew  the  pain  we  cause 

By  the  slighting  look  or  the  word  of  shame, 
By  the  seeking  out  of  those  old,  old  flaws 

That  one  scarce  could  help  in  the  race  for  fame 
If  we  only  knew  that  the  deeds  we  scorn 

Might  some  day  fall  to  ourselves  to  do, 
Or  if  not  us,  to  our  babes  unborn  : 

Jf  we  only  knew — if  we  only  knew  I 

If  we  only  knew  how  the  man  we  spurn 

Had  fought  temptation — ay,  day  and  night  ; 
If  we  only  knew,  would  we  so  turn 

And  cast  him  off  as  a  loathsome  sight  ? 
Ah  me  !   instead  of  the  sinner's  brand, 

We'd  gladly  help  him  the  ri^ht  to  do  ; 
We'd  lift  him  up  with  each  honest  hand, 

Jf  we  only  knew — if  we  only  knew  / 

3 


If  we  only  knew  how  the  woman  fell, 

Would  we  shun  her  as  now,  whene'er  we  meet  ? 
Would  we  leave  her  then  to  that  bitter  hell 

Of  self  and  sin  and  the  homeless  street  ? 
Would  we  shrug  our  shoulders  and  toss  our  head 

For  trusting  too  much,  or  being  too  true, 
Or  sinning,  perhaps,  as  some  do,  for  bread  ? 

If  we  only  knew — if  we  only  knew  / 

If  we  only  knew  of  that  girl  last  night 

Who  stood  for  a  moment  just  at  our  door, 
Ere  she  turned  away  from  the  cheerful  light 

And  sought  the  silence  of  Death's  still  shore, 
Would  we  deem  her  mad,  or  turn  aside 

From  half-starved  lips  so  cold  and  blue, 
If  they  could  tell  us  just  why  she  died  ? 

If  we  only  knew — if  we  only  knew  ! 
****** 

If  we  only  knew  that  the  hearts  we  miss 

Would  have  stayed  so  short  in  this  vale  of  woe, 
How  much  more  sweet  would  have  been  each  kiss ! 

But  we  did  not  know — we  did  not  know. 
Regrets  are  useless,  and  tears  but  blind, 

And  empty  words  can  no  past  undo  ; 
It's  no  good  sighing — I'd  been  more  kind 

If  J  only  knew — if  I  only  knew  ! 


3f. 


Fate  were  naught — and  we  were  wise, 
How  calmly  would  we  plan  the  earth  ! 
There'd  be  no  sorrow,  tears,  or  dearth  ; 
Nothing  but  joy  would  fill  our  eyes 
If  Fate  were  naught — and  we  were  wise. 


Ah  yes  !  how  well  we'd  lay  each  plan  ! 

In  life,  in  love,  we'd  all  agree  ; 

We'd  make  no  blunders  ;  we  would  see 
The  wisest  choice  for  girl  or  man 
If  Fate  were  naught — how  well  we'd  plan  ! 

If  Fate  were  naught — and  we  were  wise, 
All  things  our  wondrous  minds  would  see; 
We'd  make  "  the  present  "  change  "  to  be  ; 

We'd  write  "  it  must  "  across  the  skies. 

If  Fate  were  naught — and  we  were  wise, 
Ah  /  what  a  hash  all  things  would  be  I 


3*  (tttetnortam. 

STOOD  and  watched  her  eyelids  close — 
The  eyes  that  loved  me  long  and  well, 
The  eyes  in  which  love  seemed  to  dwell, 
From  which  my  purest  thoughts  arose. 


God  loved  her  too,  and  He,  all-wise, 
Deemed  her  too  pure  for  me  or  mine  ; 
Took  her  up  mid  His  saints  to  shine, 

And  filled  with  tears  my  weary  eyes. 

For  ah  !  the  God  of  Love  knew  well 

That  where  she  was,  there  was  my  prize  ; 
That  I  would  even  seek  the  skies, 

If  I  with  her  might  hope  to  dwell. 

And  so  along  life's  path  I  roam 

Half  fearing  lest  we  ne'er  might  meet, 
Half  fearing  lest  my  wayward  feet 

Should  lead  me  from  my  darling's  home. 


O  crown  without  some  cross, 
No  life  without  some  loss, 
No  rose  without  some  thorn, 
No  night  without  some  morn, 
No  love  without  some  cloud, 
No  home  without  some  shroud, 
No  joy  without  some  pain — 
Yet  life  is  not  in  vain  ; 
Some  day  all  will  be  plain. 


Safe. 


>xm\ 


OME,  kiss  me  right  on  the  lips,  my  love, 
And  kiss  me  again,  dear  heart,  dear  heart ; 
Come  hold  me  closer,  my  life,  my  love. 
Why  did  you  whisper  that  we  must  part  ? 
You're  going  away  ? — oh,  it  cannot  be 
That  you've  come  to-night  to  say  good-by  J 
But  'twill  only  be  for  a  season,  love — 
What  do  you  mean  by  that  weary  sigh  ? 

You  cannot  mean  it — what  have  you  said  ? 
That  you  must  leave  me  and  go  away  ? 
But  I  gave  you  my  love  and  we  were  wed 
A  year  ago  this  very  day. 
What  are  you  saying  ? — the  deed  was  false. 
My  heart  is  breaking,  my  words  are  wild  ; 
But  one  thing  binds,  tho*  all  laws  may  fail — 
You  have  forgotten — our  child — our  child  ! 

****** 
When  years  were  over  he  came  again, 
A  moneyed  man  in  the  world's  high  place  ; 
He  passed  the  house  and  he  stopped  to  think 
Just  for  a  moment  of  her  sweet  face. 
"I  wonder,"  thought  he,  "  how  fares  the  child, 
That  baby-girl  with  those  eyes  of  blue. 
How  strange  it  is  that,  tho'  men  are  wild, 
They  rarely  suffer  for  what  they  do  ! " 

8 


Just  at  that  moment  a  fair  young  face 

Came  down  the  roadway  and  crossed  the  street. 

And  the  old  man  turned  ;  for  so  much  grace 

Is  not  the  lot  of  all  men  to  meet. 

She  was  fair  and  young — but  oh  !  so  false 

That  tales  about  her  are  best  untold. 

She  played  with  men  as  one  plays  with  straws, 

And  balanced  hearts  but  by  weight  of  gold. 

She  passed  again — she  had  angled  well ; 
By  but  a  toss  of  that  peerless  head. 
Old  fools  are  worst ;  and  the  old  man  fell, 
And  scandal  whispered  that  he  would  wed. 
He  had  millions  to  spend — she  loved  his  gold ; 
She  dragged  his  name  from  its  lofty  place  ; 
She  ruled  his  household,  for  he  was  old 
And  deaf  and  blind,  to  his  own  disgrace. 

One  day  his  marriage  was  noised  abroad. 

At  night  a  supper  was  served  in  state  ; 

She  sat  beside  him  and  drank  each  toast. 

The  last  she  drank  was  a  toast  to  Fate. 

"  To  Fate  !  " — the  old  man  laughed  and  said — 

"  I'll  tell  you  a  tale  of  my  early  life, 

A  woman  I  loved — we'll  call  it  Fate — 

She  was  the  image  of  this,  my  wife." 

He  told  the  tale  of  that  cruel  night, 
For  passion  and  wine  had  flushed  his  face. 
"  You're  like  my  old  love,  child,"  he  said, 
"  And  you  forever  shall  take  her  place." 
He  had  not  noticed  that  while  he  spoke 
Her  lips  had  changed  to  a  deadly  white  ; 
And  o'er  her  features  a  strange  look  broke, 
And  in  her  eyes  was  a  wild,  fierce  light. 

9 


And  leaning  out  o'er  the  snowy  cloth 
Her  shapely  hands  with  a  long  knife  played, 
While  the  old  man  told  of  his  heartless  life 
And  gave  as  a  toast  to  the  bride  he'd  made. 
But  springing  up  in  her  fierce,  mad  hate, 
"Never  !  "  she  cried,  in  her  accents  wild, 
"  You  killed  my  mother — laugh  now  at  Fate — 
You  die  for  her — /  am  her  child!  " 


10 


^in^tng. 


O  sing  is  to  stand  at  God's  threshold, 
To  break  for  a  moment  life's  chains, 

To  rise  o'er  the  "  feelings  that  fetter," 
To  lose  in  God's  heavenly  strains 

The  self  and  the  serfdom  that  bind  us 
Like  cords  that  are  woven  with  pains. 


To  sing — be  it  ever  so  humbly — 

Is  to  use  the  most  God-given  gift, 
To  stand  as  a  Saviour — a  giver, 

To  counsel,  to  comfort,  to  lift, 
To  carry  love,  power,  dominion 

To  all  ;  for  the  singer  would  win 
And  carry  all  up  to  God's  threshold 

And  leave  them  a  little  within. 


ii 


is  so  hard  to  love — and  not  be  loved, 

So  hard  to  never,  never  see  the  light, 
To  live  as  in  a  dream  of  fancies  fair, 

To  wake  and  find  it  always,  always  night, 
To  still  the  thoughts  that  rise  to  trembling  lips, 

To  hush  the  words  that  ask  for  speech  in  vain, 
To  live  a  life  of  one  long  drear  eclipse, 

And  smile  to  hide  the  sharpness  of  the  pain. 


12 


(Waiting 


KNOW  no  pain  beyond  the  pain  of  waiting, 
The  weary  waiting  for  what  cometh  not ; 

The  pang  of  having  loved,  and  ever  knowing 
That  love  lives  on  mid  promises  forgot. 


I  know  no  tears  beyond  the  tears  of  being 
Voiceless  in  the  agony  of  dumb  despair  ; 

The  void  within  the  heart,  and  it  so  spreading 
That  all  things  fade  that  once  were,  oh,  so  fair. 

I  know  no  hunger  past  the  hollow  yearning 

That  feeds  the  heart  with  some  half-stifled  moan  ; 

The  begging  for  the  bread,  and  the  receiving 
Not  e'en  the  crumbs  that  fall — only  a  stone. 

I  know  no  death  beyond  the  pang  of  dying 

When  love  comes  back  and  stands  without  the  gate  ; 

When  blighted  life,  from  life,  forever  flying, 

Tears  out  its  heart  and  cries — Too  late  !  too  late  ! 


*3 


(Eifeen. 

0  you'd  like  me  to  tell  you  a  story, 
If  I've  anything  strange  or  new  ; 
You  won't  mind  if  it's  not  of  glory, 
Or  deeds  that  all  heroes  do. 

For  to-night  my  thoughts  keep  turning 
To  a  simple  tale  that  is  true. 

Far  from  here,  'mong  the  hills  of  Galway, 
Where  the  valleys  are  always  green, 

Where  life  seems  to  pass  in  a  slumber, 
'Neath  the  light  of  love's  golden  sheen, 

There  comes  to  my  heart  with  the  picture 
A  strange  kind  of  life  like  a  dream. 


*t>v 


A  dream  of  a  woman  so  tender — 
So  tender,  so  lovely,  so  true — 

That  I  pause  in  life's  march  to  remember 
An'  tell  the  strange  story  to  you  ; 

An'  methinks  she  is  here  at  this  moment 
To  help  with  my  heart's  sad  review. 

Oh,  God  !  how  I  loved  that  woman  ! 

To  think  of  it  now  makes  me  start  ; 
'Twas  a  love,  ay,  more  than  is  human, 

Ay,  more  than  is  good  for  the  heart ; 
For  the  soul  in  the  depths  of  my  bosom 

Of  that  love  and  that  life  had  a  part. 

14 


An"  thus  our  lives  were  so  blended, 
We  cared  not  what  scandal  was  spread, 

Tho'  the  priests  and  the  people  contended 
That  cursed  were  those  who  had  wed 

Without  some  white  altar  before  them, 
And  words  that  are  usually  said. 

So  they  drove  us  forth  from  the  village, 
But  we  cared  not,  an'  wandered  away, 

Away  o'er  the  vales  an'  the  valleys, 
To  the  seashore,  an'  there  in  a  bay 

I  built  a  rough  hut  from  the  wreckage, 
Just  out  of  the  reach  of  the  spray. 


An'  we  lived  there  like  children  together, 
On  the  fruits  of  the  land  an'  the  sea  ; 

Ay,  lived  there  as  wild  as  the  weather, 
That  ofttimes  was  wild  as  could  be. 

For  we  loved  an'  were  happy  together, 
For  she  was  life's  sunshine  to  me. 


But  alas  !  too  well  I  remember 

One  day  when  the  summer  was  spent, 

The  landlord  with  bailiffs  behind  him 
Came  down  an'  demanded  some  rent — 

Some  rent  for  our  poor  little  cabin  ; 
I  scarce  knew  at  first  what  he  meant. 


But  he  laughed  at  our  prayers  an'  entreaties, 
An'  sail]  [<>  In.  men,  "  Bring  a  light  ; 

We'll  make  such  a  fire  of  this  wreckage, 
That  ships  maybe  lost  in  its  si^ht." 

So  they  did — an'  he  whispered  t<>  Kilecn 
A  thought  that  was  blacker  than  night. 

15 


But  what  could  I  do,  being  a  peasant, 
To  guard  my  poor  darling  from  him  ? 

I  just  whispered  to  God  to  control  me, 
Lest  then  I  were  tempted  to  sin, 

As  I  saw  him  ride  off  in  the  distance, 
Till  the  twilight  grew  lonesome  an'  dim. 

Then  I  turned  me  round  to  my  darling, 

An'  looked  at  my  Eileen  so  bright, 
An'  whispered,  "  Child,  pray  to  your  Maker, 
That  you  always  keep  pure  in  His  sight ; 

For  I  fear  me  some  evil  is  coming 

On  the  blackened  wide  wings  of  the  night" 


But  Eileen — she  laughed  at  forebodings, 
An'  looking  away  to  the  west, 

Said,  "  Ah,  no,  let  us  pray  for  the  sailors 
To-night  on  the  ocean's  wild  crest." 

So  the  two  of  us  knelt  down  together, 
An'  left  to  our  Maker  the  rest. 


There  we  lay  in  the  light  of  our  cabin, 
That  was  blazing  away  through  the  night, 

While  the  billows  grew  louder  an'  louder, 
An'  the  storm  was  increasing  in  height, 

When  suddenly  out  in  the  darkness 
Came  a  terrible  shriek  of  affright. 


'Twas  a  wreck  on  the  rocks  beyond  us, 
An'  there  in  the  surf  at  our  door 

Was  a  man  in  the  wild,  rough  billows, 
Not  a  hundred  yards  from  the  shore. 

She  looked  at  him,  then  she  kissed  me, 
And  sighed  as  she  looked  out  once  more. 

16 


That  kiss  seemed  to  give  me  new  courage, 
That  kiss  seemed  to  fly  through  my  blood ; 

In  a  second  I  was  out  in  the  breakers, 
An'  battling  with  foam  an'  with  flood. 

I  was  strong,  but  they  were  the  stronger, 
An'  I  gasped  with  each  watery  thud. 

I  was  out  in  the  breakers  struggling, 
But  had  scarcely  yet  left  the  shore, 

When  I  thought  that  I  heard  my  darling 
Scream  higher  than  even  the  roar 

Of  wind  an'  wave  and  of  billow  ; 
But  I  could  not  think  of  it  more. 


For  just  then  I  was  close  to  the  sailor, 

As  faintly  he  seemed  to  moan, 
"  Oh,  my  God  !  my  God  !  I'm  drowning, 

Drowning  now  in  the  sight  of  home." 
Then  I  remembered  no  more  but  the  struggling 

In  that  awful  wide  waste  of  foam. 


When  I  came  to  myself,  'twas  daylight ; 

I  was  lying  there  on  the  sand, 
With  the  man  I  had  saved  bending  o'er  me, 

Holding  fast  to  his  heart  my  hand  ; 
An'  I  looked  an'  I  started— God  help  me  ! 

He  was  heir  to  my  tyrant's  broad  land. 


Then  I  thought  of  Eileen,  my  Eileen, 

An'  I  tried  to  walk  up  the  shore, 
Till  I  saw  the  cabin  still  smoking 
An'  hingeless  the  now  blackened  door  ; 

An'  the  previous  night  seemed  to  cross  me 
With  a  cry  1  had  heard  before. 

■7 


I  rushed  to  the  waves  in  my  frenzy, 

Scanned  their  billows  far,  near,  an*  wide, 

Then  saw  in  a  kind  of  mad  envy 

That  they  lapped  at  my  feet  in  their  pride  ; 

An'  I  prayed  an'  I  begged  and  besought  them 
To  give  me  my  darling,  my  bride. 


But  they  mocked  at  my  wild  entreaties 
With  their  ghastly  upturned  lips, 

With  their  foam  wreaths  forever  curling 
From  the  rocks  an'  the  sandy  slips, 

With  the  happy  songs  that  they  bore  me 
From  the  decks  of  the  far-off  ships. 


For  the  waves  were  in  love  with  my  darling  ; 

They  had  dragged  her  down  to  their  bed. 
An'  I  dream  that  they  deck  her  with  jewels, 

With  corals  an'  rubies  so  red, 
That  they  mock  the  sweet  lips  of  my  Eileen — 

The  lips  of  the  loved  an'  the  dead. 


18 


(Regrets. 


H  !  the  glorious  golden  summer  ! 
Ah  !  the  happy  joyous  murmur 
Of  the  birds  ! 
With  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers 
Comes  the  thought  of  buried  hours, 

Bygone  words. 
As  each  petal  opes  before  us, 
Visions  sad  come  crowding  o'er  us 

Of  the  past. 
Once  again  the  days  of  childhood 
Pass  amid  the  waving  wild  wood 

All  too  fast ; 
Once  again  the  press  of  fingers 
In  our  own  a  moment  lingers, 

Loath  to  part ; 
And  the  thoughts  we'd  fain  have  vanish 
Rise  as  ghosts  \vc  cannot  banish 

From  each  heart. 


Once  again  harsh  words  are  spoken, 
Golden  links  lie  rudely  broken 

Of  life's  chain. 
Summer  may  with  golden  ^'ory 
Gild  the  opening  "i  my  story, 

But  the  pain  — 

19 


Ah  !  the  pain,  the  pain  of  parting, 
In  my  weary  bosom  smarting, 

Sears  my  breast. 
She  is  laid  where  grasses  waving 
Swell  my  heart's  wild,  ceaseless  craving 

For  its  rest. 

Summer  past,  the  Autumn  follows  : 
Fading  flowers,  fleeing  swallows, 
Wild  birds  hushed  and  winds  that,  sighing, 
Chant  of  days  that  know  no  dying  ; 
And  my  heart,  so  sad  and  dreary, 
Sees  the  changing  of  earth's  scene, 
And  it  asks,  "  When  life  is  weary, 
Will  she  lift  the  veil  between  ? " 
When  the  summer  leaves  are  shaded 
Will  her  sweet  voice  some  day  call — 
Some  day  when  life's  flowers  have  faded, 
And  the  leaves  of  Autumn  fall  ? 


20 


OU'RE  lying  dead — and  I've  followed  the  bier 
Over  the  streets  to  the  burial  ground  ; 
But  why  should  I  falter — why  should  I  fear 
A  marble  cross  and  a  grassy  mound  ? 

The  world  has  said  you  were  happily  wed, 
That  I  was  a  husband  fond  and  true, 

A  man  respected — an  honored  head 

(  What  would  they  think  if  they  only  knew  ?) 

But  !  you  were  a  woman — you  stood  in  my  way, 
You,  who  had  only  good  thoughts  to  give  ; 

Others  had  money — alack-a-day — 

I  often  thought  that  you  could  not  live. 

A  little  drug  when  the  night  was  still 

(Ah,  how  well  docs  my  memory  serve  !)  ; 

'Tis  easy  enough  methinks  to  kill, 
If  one  has  only  the  strength  of  nerve. 

You  lay  in  my  arms  that  cursed  ni^ht, 

Your  innocent  face  pressed  closed  to  mine  ; 

You  little  thought  as  you  went  to  sleep 
You  slept  indeed  in  the  anus  of  crime. 

21 


But  why  should  I  think  of  those  words  you  said, 
Or  that  awful  look  as  you  passed  away  ? 

What's  done  is  done,  and  what's  dead  is  dead — 
There's  no  such  thing  as  a  reckoning  day. 

And  yet  methinks,  as  the  earth  rolls  in, 

You  stretch  your  arms  from  your  narrow  tomb; 

You  hiss  in  my  ears  my  awful  sin — 

Oh  God  ! — if  these  people  would  give  me  room  ! 

They're  crowding  round  me  on  every  side, 
Pushing  me,  pushing  me  to  the  grave — 

Back,  fellows,  back  ! — is  the  ground  not  wide  ? 
I  gasp  for  breath — is  there  none  to  save  ? 


Her  hand  is  closing  upon  my  throat, 

Her  haunting  eyes  have  grown  fixed  on  mine- 

Who  are  these  jailers  ? — what  have  I  done  ? 
Oh  God!  I've  told  them  my  deed  of  crime  ! 


22 


@t  Creeb. 

IVE  for  some  earnest  purpose, 

Live  for  some  noble  life, 
Live  for  the  hearts  that  love  you, 
Live  that  you  conquer  strife  ; 
Live  that  the  world  may  find  you 

Honest  and  pure  of  thought, 
Live  tho'  it  frown  upon  you, 
Live  as  all  true  men  ought. 

What  does  it  matter,  brother, 

If  in  the  race  for  fame 
The  one  gains  a  gilded  carriage, 

The  other  a  poor  man's  name  ? 
Life's  but  a  little  season, 

Naught  but  a  passing  cloud  ; 
One  day  it  lives  in  sunshine, 

The  next — the  winding  shroud. 


Why  do  you  live  ?  you  murmur; 

Why  do  you  die  ?   I  ask, 
When  the  golden  good  of  kindness 

Lies  oft  within  thy  grasp. 
'Tis  but  a  word  of  comfort, 

"lis  but  a  Softened  heart, 
'Tis  but  a  look  of  pity 

When  tears  arc  seen  to  start. 

23 


'Tis  but  a  word  of  guidance, 

Only  a  friendly  touch, 
One  moment's  self-denial ; 

But  oh  !  it  is  so  much, 
That  heavy  hearts  grow  lighter, 

And  life  is  robbed  of  pain, 
And  somewhere  in  the  world 

Yours  is  the  greater  gain. 

-,.  3f*  ^>  ^^ 

Be  ye,  then,  Jew  or  Gentile, 

Ask  not  the  other's  creed  ; 
For  if  the  flower  be  spotless, 

Care  ye  where  grow  the  seed? 
Live  for  the  one  true  purpose 
That  honest  hearts  may  rise, 
Work  thro'  the  noon  of  manhood  ; 

And  when  the  evening  dies 
There  need  be  no  forebodings — 

Angels  will  close  thine  eyes. 


24 


HEY  said  that  Heaven  was  over  there, 
And  pointed  towards  the  snowy  clouds 
That  floated  by  like  aimless  crowds 

Of  long-dead  thoughts  in  sunlit  air. 

And  I  looked  up  in  mute  dismay 

And  murmured  low  :  If  such  ye  teach, 
Tis  far  too  high  for  me  to  reach  ; 

And  so  I  sadly  turned  away. 

And  wandered  on,  and  on,  and  on, 
With  scarce  a  purpose  or  command, 
Half  hoping  that  in  some  lone  land 

I'd  wake  and  find  Life's  torment  gone. 

But  lo  !  amid  my  soul's  despair, 
I  reached  an  alley  in  a  town, 
And  saw  a  woman  bending  down, 

O'er  sick  and  weary  hearts  of  care. 

And  as  I  looked,  methought  a  voice 

Spoke  softly  at  the  woman's  side  : 

1  or  luct)  as  these  a  Saviour  died  ; 

Do  you  do  likewise,  and  rejoice. 

oice  that   Heaven  lies  nol   away 
Beyond  the  c  lotldS  or  starlit  dome, 

But  in  <■  i,h  heart  and  in  each  home, 
And  in  the  deeds  <>j  every  day. 


25 


feife. 

H  !  life  is  a  maze  of  partings  and  meetings, 
An  hour  of  delight  and  a  day  of  despair  ; 
We  pause  for  a  moment  to  gather  the  greetings. 
We  pass  and  repass  like  the  phantoms  of  air. 

We  think  for  a  moment :    Ah,  now  we  are  happy, 
The  brightness  of  loving  can  have  no  eclipse  ! 

But  while  we  are  thinking,  the  sunlight  is  sinking, 
And  so  with  dead  kisses  we  moisten  our  lips. 

We  smile  by  forgetting  the  past  with  its  sorrow, 
We  live  by  imagining  moments  more  fair  ; 

We  conquer  to-day  by  the  dream  of  to-morrow, 
We  read  by  the  rushlight  of  fancies  that  were. 

Thus  toiling  and  resting,  and  doubting  and  testing, 
We  carry  our  burden  'mid  gladness  and  strife, 

But  while  we  are  thinking,  the  sunlight  is  sinking, 
And  this  is  the  thing  that  we  worship  as — Life. 


26 


fetftes. 

WOMAN  stood  and  watched  awhile 

A  river  and  some  lilies  white  ; 
Her  face  was  fair — no  trace  of  guile 
Lay  in  her  eyes  so  pure  and  bright. 
She  liked  the  lilies  and  the  stream, 

But  ah,  the  weeds  soon  pained  her  sight  ; 
She  murmured  low,  "God  made  the  scene, 
And  yet  I  doubt  if  it  be  right." 

Just  as  she  spake,  from  down  the  glen 

The  rough  winds  swayed  the  lilies  tall  ; 
They  bow,  they  bend,  they  soon  would  break- 

Tiut  weeds  support  them  ere  they  fall. 
But  she,  too  pure  to  see  its  truth, 

Went  thinking  but  of  lilies  fair, 
Not  knowing  that  her  age  and  youth 

Were  at  that  moment  acted  there. 

Again  she  came — a  year  had  fled  ; 

She'd  been  too  proud — lilies  too  tall, 
Be  they  the  i-  I  their  kind, 

'Tia  often  Baid  .'re  first  i"  fill. 

The  glen  was  calm — no  sound  was  heard. 
Save  lily  leaves  that  tapped  the  lake  : 

She  murmured  low,  "0  God,  forgive, 
For  e'en  thy  purest  lilies  break." 

27 


But  as  she  toyed  with  Death  awhile, 

Ere  to  her  lips  she  pressed  his  cup, 
Close  to  her  side  a  deep  voice  said, 

"  But  may  not  weeds  bear  lilies  up  ? 
Thou  art  more  fair  and  not  less  frail ; 

A  fall  but  makes  each  step  more  sure  ; 
To  love  is  human — if  we  fail, 

Still  to  the  pure  all  things  are  pure." 

So  ends  the  tale — go  thou  and  see 

The  weeds  and  lilies  in  Life's  stream  ; 

Thy  heart  may  tell  thee  more,  my  friend  ; 
Go,  think  it  o'er — 'tis  not  a  dream. 


28 


AY  in  thy  future  there  be  hid  somewhere 

So  much  of  light  and  love,  that  you  may  deem 
All  nature  came,  and  making  life  a  dream, 
Made  it  most  fair. 


to 


T  matters  not  if  thou  be  understood 

In  thy  great  effort  for  the  greatest  good  ; 
Thy  motive  high,  thy  purpose  life's  demands— 
What  matter  then  aught  else  ? — God  understands. 


ND  would  we  question  fate?     Methinks 
In  life's  long  chain  we  are  the  little  links 
That  stretch  the  endless  whole  ;  and  thus  I  teach, 
As  part  of  life  so  arc  wc  part  of  each. 


29 


Z$t  ft'raf  bag  of  t §t  toeeft  corner^  (Jtjorg  ©agtafene  earfg   *   ♦    *    ono  Beef 9  f 5* 
stone  faften  atwag  from  f  (Je  Bcpufc^re.— 3olJn  *jr. ». 


AS  it  not  Mary  who  in  early  dawn 

Was  first  to  find  the  breaking  of  the  day — 
Mary  the  sinful  one,  Mary  the  scorned, 
Who  came  so  early  to  the  grave  to  pray  ? 


Was  it  not  Mary  who  with  glad  acclaim 

Gave  forth  the  truth — of  but  an  empty  tomb, 

Of  Christ,  the  risen  Lord,  who  conquered  shame, 
Who  stood  triumphant  over  Death  and  gloom  ? 

And  yet  in  after  days  of  "  Christian  light " 
The  Magdalen  is  scarce  allowed  a  place  ; 

The  cloak  we  give  is  but  the  darkest  night, 
To  hide  the  tears  that  trickle  down  her  face. 

Oh  God,  how  good  we  are  that  we  must  make 
Such  fine  distinctions  with  each  class  and  creed  ! 

How  wise  to  do  it  but  for  Thy  dear  sake, 
And  not  for  vain  position  or  for  greed  !  (?) 

How  kind  in  us  to  send  to  foreign  shores, 
To  teach  the  pagan  how  to  live  above 

All  base  deceit — that  e'en  the  heathen  stores 
May  be  conducted  with  "  our  Christian  love  "  ! 

30 


Oh  God,  of  all  the  human  and  the  right, 

Our  creeds  have  cast  us  in  a  narrow  mould  ; 

They  fain  would  make  us  without  soul  or  sight, 
But  fit  for  barter  as  the  coins  we  hold. 

Our  guides  are  but  as  puppets  in  the  poll, 

Our  sacred  thoughts  are  weighed  by  gain  or  loss, 

Our  temples  have  no  shelter  for  the  soul, 

Though  spire  and  dome  be  sculptured  in  a  cros9. 
****** 

Oh  God,  of  all  the  noble  and  the  true, 

Make  us  more  human — and  in  thus  divine, 

That  from  the  hearts  long  dead  may  rise  anew 
A  Living  Christ  in  this,  Thy  Easter-time. 


3i 


Christmas   <£t>e. 


N  angel  floats  o'er  our  homes  to-night 
With  wings  outspread  'neath  the  stars  of  light, 
With  eyes  of  love  that  on  all  look  down 
From  the  Heaven  of  peace  to  the  crowded  town  ; 
And  the  angel  prays  in  the  night  air  calm, 
And  stars  repeat  her  half-whispered  psalm 
From  sphere  to  sphere  and  from  height  to  height, 
"Let  there  be  peace  in  this  town  to-night." 

She  lifts  her  hands,  and  the  blessing  falls, 

On  lowest  hovels,  on  lordliest  halls, 

On  darkest  alleys,  on  streets  of  light, 

"  Let  there  be  peace  in  this  town  to-night." 

Ay,  peace  to  all — to  the  factory  room, 

To  its  whirling  wheels  and  its  rattling  loom, 

To  its  weary  workers,  so  worn  and  white, 

"  Let  there  be  peace  in  this  town  to-night." 

To  all,  to  all,  there  is  none  too  low, 

Or  none  too  crushed  with  their  weight  of  woe, 

Or  none  too  high  for  Good  Will  to  reach, 

As  part  of  life  are  we  part  of  each. 

To  she  who  sinneth,  and  he  who  sinned, 

To  that  poor  outcast  so  dunned  and  dinned, 

To  tramp  and  beggar,  to  lord,  to  slave, 

To  ships  that  ride  on  the  wint'ry  wave, 

And  to  that  mourner  that  bows  the  head 

To  the  sainted  names  of  the  newly  dead, 

May  comfort  come,  and  may  they  see 

That  all  is  good,  and  is  best  to  be. 

32 


To  orphaned  ones,  to  those  heirs  of  care 
That  are  homeless,  houseless,  everywhere, 
May  some  sweet  act  of  kindness  wrought 
Redeem  the  name  of  Christian  thought ; 
And  to  those  others  that  somehow  came, 
As  gifts  of  love  or  as  marks  of  shame, 
May  they  feel  no  sorrow,  no  sin,  no  slight, 
In  the  shadowing  peace  of  God's  love  to-night. 


33 


V 


ma; 


£0e  QBurmng  of  gincftfeg. 

($n  Jncibenf  of  OEeefern  fetfe. 

LL  aboard  !  all  aboard  !  "  the  clang  of  the  engine- 
bell, 
An'  we  stretched  our  hands  thro'  the  windows,  an' 
bade  them  a  long  farewell. 
We  were  goin'  back  to  the  East,  sir,  for  Jack  had  a  vow  to 

keep — 
"  A  wife  in  bond,"  I  believe  he  said,  an'  he  was  behind  a 

week. 
But  that  wasn't  due  to  bein'  careless,  sir,  but  due  to  that 

awful  drought 
An'  the  fires  around  the  farmstead  that  had  kept  us  for  weeks 

in  doubt ; 
For  they  rose  when  we  thought  them  conquered — if  you  ever 

have  lost  your  rest 
By  travellin'  across  the  country,  you  may  know  what  a  blaze 

is  West. 
Well,  this  year  it  was  somethin'  awful,  for  the  forests  were 

all  on  fire, 
An'  waves  of  flame  for  miles  and  miles  rose  higher  an'  ever 

higher  ; 
An' the  oldest  in  Minnesota  could  not,  in  their  bygone  days, 
Remember  or  even  imagine  the  fierceness  of  that  last  blaze. 
If  you've  seen  a  West'rn  fire,  sir,  you  know  what  I  mean 

when  I  say 
That  the  pictures  of  the  judgment  ain't  in  it,  by  a  long,  long 

way, 

34 


With  those  forests  of  pine  an'  undergrowth,  an'  grass  eight 

feet  in  height, 
That  somehow  catch  fire  and  blaze,  sir,  ay,  morn  an'  noon 

an'  night. 
But  Jack  an'  myself  had  won,  sir  ;  we  were  safe  in  the  rail- 
road train, 
With  many  a  burn  on  our  face  an'  hands,  with  many  a  scar 

an'  stain, 
But  stains  from  honest  toil,  sir,  an'  'tis  such  makes  the  no- 
blest crest  ; 
Those  are  the  heraldic  signs,  sir,  that  we  honor  an'  love  out 

West. 
But  we'd  soon  be  back  in  the  East  now — we  hadn't  been 

home  for  years — 
An'  as  we  talked  of  the  dear  old  place,  I  saw  in  Jack's  eyes 

the  tears  ; 
For  he  was  that  kin'  o'  chap,  sir,  who'd  never  say  die  in  a 

fight, 
While   the   name  of   home   or  mother  in  a  moment  would 

queer  his  sight. 
We'd  been  sittin'  still  for  hours,  sir,  for  the  noise  an'  burr  of 

the  train 
Had  a  kind  o'  soothin',  calmin'   effect  after  such  weeks  of 

strain, 
When  Jack,  he  bent  over  an'  roused  me,  an'  pointed  away  to 

the  right, 
Where  a  bank  of  smoke  rose  up  to  the  sky,  black  as  the 

wings  of  night  ; 
With  a  kin'  o'  shake  in  his  voice,  too,  he  whispered   within 

my  ear  : 
"  Mate,   if  yon   forest   takes  fire,  it   will   be  over   with   us,  1 

r."  ' 
I  laughed  at  him  for  a  moment,  till    I    saw  that    the    winds 

behind 
Lay  right  in  the  arms  of  the  fire  an'  straight  in  the  teeth  of 
the  wind  ; 


35 


And  before  us  on  either  side,  sir,  they  stretched  like  a  great 

dark  wall, 
With  that  cloud  of  smoke  comin'  onward,  with  a  shape  like  a 

funeral  pall  ; 
An'  my  heart  stood  still  in  my  bosom  for  them  childer  and 

women  folk 
Who  were  standin'  up  in  the  windows,  half  scared  by  the 

blindin'  smoke. 
On,  on,  went  the  train  in  the  darkness,  for,  tho'  it  was  only 

noon, 
It  was  black  as  pitch  all  around  us — ay,  dark  as  the  day  of 

doom  ; 
But  away  we  went  tearin'  onward,  each  second  increasin*  our 

speed, 
For  there  was  a  man  in  that  engine,  a  hero  in  thought  an*  in 

deed — 
A  man  who  a  few  weeks  before,  sir,  they  disgraced  for  aidin' 

a  strike, 
But  face  to  face  with  our  danger,  he  showed  what  a  hero  is 

like  ; 
For  what  did  he  do  at  Hinckley? — tho'  he  hadn't  a  moment 

to  spare — 
He  brought  that  train  to  a  stand,  sir,  an'  took  on  the  few 

that  were  there. 
For  Hinckley  was  burned  to  ashes,  an'  before  our  nigh  sight- 
less eyes 
The  flames  of  each  cottage  an'  homestead  rose  up  to  the 

blackened  skies, 
An'   the  bodies  of   men   and  cattle,  escapin'  in  their  mad 

flight, 
Were  o'ertaken  and  burned  together — ay,  almost  before  our 

sight. 
But  that  hero  there  in  the  engine,  he  wouldn't  pull  off  from 

the  place 
Till  he'd  saved  full  many  a  hundred — then  he  entered  for 

that  mad  race. 


36 


An'  you  should  have  seen  how  the  wheels  flew  ;  but  were  they 

ten  times  more  fast, 
Full  many  of  us  on  the  cars,  sir,  had  reckoned  that  day  as 

our  last ; 
For  the  fire  had  burst  through  the  forest — oh  God  !  how  it 

seemed  to  gain  ! 
As  it  neared  us,  an'  neared  us,  an*  neared  us,  till  the  heat  of 

the  flyin'  train 
Scorched  us,  as  huddled  together  like  cattle  we  lay  on  the 

floor, 
Half  blind  by  the  smoke  an'  the  flames,  sir,  half  deaf  by  that 

awful  roar, 
For  the  tongues  of  fire  that  followed  seemed  to  hiss  with 

the  sparks  that  fell 
Like  the  hiss  of  a  million  demons  let  loose  from  the  flames 

of  hell. 

****** 
An'  Jack,  he  suddenly  whispered  :  "  If  it  should  be  your 

fate  to  get  thro', 
I  want  you  to  tell  my  old  woman  that  I  did  just  as  good 

as  I  knew 
While  struggling  to  make  her  a  homestead,  an'  while  I  was 

out  in  the  West 
I  was  always  honest  and  upright — I  tried  to  do  what  was  best ; 
An'  tell  her,  mate,  how  I  loved  her,  an'  how  it)  this  moment 

of  doom " 

But  Jack  didn't  finish  his  sentence,  for  he  fell  at  my  feet  in 

a  swoon. 
An'  1  took  him  up  in  my  arms,  sir,  an'  I  fought  to  get  him 

some  air, 
An'  I  carried   him  up  to  the  engine,  but  I   laid  him  down  in 

despair, 

For  the   flames  were  leapin*  around  it — ay,  leapin'  up  higher 

an'  higher, 

Till  the  only  thing  you  could   see,  sir,  was  a  bliiidin'  white 
sheet  of   fire. 


37 


I'd  have  lost  my  head  at  that  moment  if  I  hadn't  caught 

hold  of  the  sight 
Of  two  brave  lads  on  the  engine  still  out  in  the  thick  of  the 

fight  ; 
Their  clothes  were  burnt  on  their  backs,  sir,  the  cab  of  the 

engine  was  red, 
The  flesh  of  their  hands  was  blistered — still  the  furnace  they 

rapidly  fed 
As  they  urged  that  engine  onwards,  for  they  knew  that  a 

swampy  creek 
Was  lyin'  not  far  before  them,  an'  they  made  for  that  narrow 

streak. 
I  looked  back  at  the  train  for  a  second — oh  God  !  what  an 

awful  sight ! 
For  the  fire  had  reached  the  end,  now,  an'  that  car  was  a 

blaze  of  light. 
An'  the  rest  were  about  to  follow,  when,  sickened,  I  turned 

away — 
But  there,  just  lyin'  ahead,  sir,  was  the  first  faint  glimpse  of 

the  day ; 
An*  there  lay  the  creek  before  us — I  wanted  to  call  for  a 

cheer, 
To  tell  to  the  comrades  behind   us  of   help  and  relief  so 

near. 
But  my  heart  nigh  stopped  for  dread,  sir  ;  a  somethin'  nigh 

choked  my  speech, 
For  there  was  a  bridge  o'er  the  gap,  sir,  an'  the  fire  was  well 

in  reach, 
An'  sappin'  each  post  and  each  pillar,  an'  lickin'  each  rod  an' 

rail. 
Oh  God  !  it  was  awful  to  see    it — ay,   awful   just  then  to 

fail. 
But  those  heroes  there  on  the  engine,  they  thought  they'd  a 

moment  to  spare — 
We  were  out  on  the  bridge  in  a  second — there  wasn't  e'en 

time  for  a  prayer — 

38 


When  away  went  the  blazin'  timbers — a  crash  and  a  deaf- 

enin'  roar  ; 
But  we'd  crossed,  sir — crossed  in  safety — an'  were  saved  on 

the  other  shore. 

****** 
An'  now  for  a  cheer  for  those  heroes  ;  if  you  love  to  give 

honor  its  due, 
If  you  value  your  country's  record  of  deeds  that  are  great 

and  true, 
If  you'd  like  to  encourage  duty,  and  actions  both  brave  and 

right, 
Give  a  ringin'  cheer  for  those  heroes,  be  they  far  or  near 

to-night. 


<E  thou  what  God  has  made  of  thee — 
A  lily  fair  on  life's  calm  lake — 

I  That  all  thy  friends  may  always  be 

In  love  with  luve  for  love's  sweet  sake. 


39 


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A  Novel 

By  CHEIRO 

A   Strange    Psychological    Story  Chiefly  Dealing   with  Hereditary  Laws  and 

Prenatal  Influences. 

Cloth,  $1.25;     paper,  50  cents. 

For  sale  everywhere,  or  sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  publisher 

F.  TENNYSON  NEELY 

96  QUEEN  STREET  114  FIFTH  AVENUE 

LONDON  NEW  YORK 


DATE  DUE 

«■ 

GAYLORD 

PRINTED  IN  U    S    A. 

UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

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a   iy  in  ni97«  /101c 


